The wolf
by Redzik
Summary: Like Lydia said, Stiles is always the one who figures things out. Pre-slash this time, because it's too much Sterek-y.


**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

* * *

It wasn't until he read about Aztecs on a whim, that he got this idea. It was stupid and incredibly dangerous, but he was sure he had it figured out. Briefly he contemplated telling Scott, but the situation would be delicate enough without someone else interfering. No. It would be better if he did it alone. Hopefully, he wouldn't die a horrible death. If so, well, they were all screwed already anyway.

He checked the time and deemed it still acceptable to start his plan. It wasn't like he expected to find what he was looking for instantly. He knew it could take him days, weeks even.

So he was pleasantly surprised when he managed to get what he wanted so quickly.

On a hunch he drove to the loft. To his relief, Derek wasn't around. Peter was, for which he was hoping for. It took some bullshitting and very careful goading, but Peter unwittingly gave him an idea on where to start his search. He wasn't even surprised, that the older Hale was involved in this more than it seemed to.

* * *

The tunnels were dark, damp and cold and he regretted rushing in without proper preparation. He was just too excited to wait for another day. At least he was reasonably sure he'll find his way back. Which sounded like a very good idea as he heard a deep growl not far from his current position. He swiped his flashlight around, but saw nothing.

"Okay," he murmured to himself. "I think it's time to call it a night." He turned around and froze. His way blocked a huge humanoid with an armor made of bones. It had big, sharp claws that opened expectantly as if just waiting to sink into his soft, human flesh. "Oh, Jesus," he swallowed hard. He never saw a Berserker before and Scott's description didn't do it any justice. "I was just leaving," he said nervously, taking a careful step back. It didn't move, just watched him. That was good, right? "It was nice to meet you. Bye!" He turned around and squeaked as he came face to face with the second Berserker. It was so close he could touch it, leaned in to give him close up and personal view of it's bony mask. He flailed around and fell on his ass, "Oh God, I'm going to die."

"Not before I get some answers from you," Kate Argent stepped out from her hiding place, "Stiles." She made some sign and the closest Berserker lifted him up from the ground easily and dragged further into tunnels.

* * *

Okay, so antagonizing a person who was already a psycho and had serious control issues wasn't one of his best ideas. He slid to the ground, dazed and weak from his meeting with a wall after enraged Kate threw him. And oh, look, apparently she left scratches on his chest, when she grabbed his shirt with her clawed hands, if the sudden wetness and stickiness of the torn material was any indication. He tried to scramble away as she advanced on him all wolfed out? is that right to say in her case?, but his body refused to cooperate with his fuzzy brain. The only Berserker remained in the dimly lit lair, Stiles was almost sure it was the one who liked to display his bony armor to him, growled lowly. Kate send away the second one, probably to scout the area for others stupid teenagers running around. Too bad he was alone. No, screw that, it was really bad. Because Kate griped him by the throat tightly, her claws just shy from piercing his skin, and lifted him up. He gasped for breath he couldn't take anymore. And screwed his eyes shut, kissing his life goodbye as he saw the other clawed hand coming at him. Then he suddenly was back on the ground, kneeling, coughing and gasping for air. There was a lot of snarling and snapping in front of him and he lifted his head to look as soon as he was able to concentrate on anything other than breathing. And he was right. He was so, so freaking right.

The Berserker was tearing Kate apart. Limb by limb, until a mess of body parts was strewn around without even a remotely chance of healing. Not that Stiles minded Kate being dead, but there was just so much blood. Apparently he made a noise, because all Berserker's attention shifted to him. He didn't move as the beast walked to him and crouched low. The Berserker made a small noise.

"Yeah," Stiles whispered, agreeing to whatever. The beast leaned in. The mask scratched uncomfortably against his skin as the Berserker tried to nuzzle his neck, but Stiles just closed his eyes and relaxed, the adrenaline dissipated leaving him woozy, in pain and exhausted. The Berserker whimpered, pushing closer into him.

"Missed you too, Sourwolf," he managed to say before he felt himself falling. Then there was only darkness.

* * *

It was almost like the time with the Nogitsune. The Sheriff called Scott, Scott called each member of the pack and when they realized Stiles was missing, they all immediately organized the search. Nobody wanted to think what could happen to him with assassins, Kate Argent and Berserkers on the loose. They checked the more obvious places first and regrouped at the parking lot of the loft after Derek told them Stiles was there late afternoon, talking to Peter. They were in the middle of discussing their next step when all the werewolves stiffened and turned to the exit, eyes glowing in the semi-darkness.

"What?" Kira whispered urgently. "What is it?"

There was a long growl and sound of heavy footsteps, signaling, that whatever was coming sure as hell wasn't pleasant.

"Berserker," Scott hissed. Immediately everyone snapped into fighting stance. Scott, Liam and Malia wolfed out. Kira pulled her katana out. The Sheriff and Braeden reached for their pistols. Even Lydia was ready to fight, though there wasn't really anything she could do. And Derek? Derek felt strange. Like his strength was slowly seeping back in. What the hell?

The beast slowly emerged from the shadows, eliciting a gasp from all of them and a weak 'oh, God' from the Sheriff and Scott. The Berserker was covered in blood, fairly fresh by the looks of it, but it wasn't what the pack focused on. The Berserker was carrying unconscious boy they were looking for in it's arms. Stiles was also covered in blood, the front of his shirts was torn and few bloody scratches on his skin were clearly visible. The beast evidently couldn't get a good grip on him, because one of his arms was hanging limply in the air and his head was tilted back, exposing the bruises on his neck. It stopped about twenty feet before them.

For a moment nobody moved. Derek stared at the Berserker, feeling an unexplained pull towards it. Berserker stared back at him. Then Scott shifted slightly, ready to attack and Derek made a decision.

"Wait!" he said, stepping forward, not taking his eyes from the beast. It did nothing. "Just wait."

"What?" Scott asked incredulously.

"Derek what are you-" the Sheriff started.

"Just wait," Derek repeated. "Let me..." he took a few more steps forward. Still nothing. Though the pull became stronger and he felt his wounds start to heal. With his next step the Berserker shifted, growling. Derek immediately stopped and frowned.

"Malia!" he heard Scott hiss behind him. He turned and sure enough Malia was creeping forward.

"Stay back!" he growled at her. At them, really. Malia huffed, but went back to her position beside Scott.

Derek continued walking slowly to the Berserker, encouraged when it still did nothing, but watch him calmly. It hadn't moved even when he stopped less than two feet before it. They looked at each other for a moment. Derek felt almost like himself again. And of course Stiles was the one to figure it out. As if in unspoken agreement they both looked down at the boy. Derek took the hanging arm and tucked it securely across Stiles' stomach, then he extended his hands. The Berserker moved closer and gently transferred the boy into Derek's arms.

"Thank you."

The Berserker whined worriedly, clearly wanting to just curl itself around Stiles protectively. Derek definitely understood and shared the sentiment. He hitched boy's legs higher up his arm, so easy with his werewolf strength, so he could put his hand on Berserker's forearm.

"He'll be okay," he reassured. "Will you come with us?"

The beast looked past him and growled quietly in asset.

"Is he alright?" the Sheriff suddenly appeared next to Derek. The werewolf looked at the suddenly on edge Berserker warily. He knew the Sheriff was creeping up to them, having his enhanced senses back was awesome, but the beast hadn't reacted to him up until now. It probably was because the Berserker sensed his connection to the boy.

"He's pretty banged up, but I don't think it's something serious," Derek replied. "Sheriff, you should- No!"

While Derek was talking, the Sheriff stepped up and reached for his son. The Berserker roared. Derek just barely managed to push the Sheriff aside and turn around to catch the sharp claws on his body rather than on one of the humans. He hissed as they racked across back of his shoulder, but healed almost instantly after. The rest of the pack started yelling and moved to help.

"Stop!" Derek barked at them, wolfed out, and they were so surprised they obeyed instantly. He then glared at the stunned Sheriff on the ground, "Don't. Move."

He turned to the Berserker, who was making distressed sounds since it attacked the Sheriff.

"Hey, it's okay," Derek soothed. "Nothing happened to him. See?"

The Berserker whimpered and reached for Stiles. Derek let it take the boy back, going as far as arranging his body to be more comfortable in the beast's grip. The Berserker curled protectively over Stiles, slowly calming down.

"What the hell, Derek!" the Sheriff demanded. The werewolf moved, placing himself between the Berserker and the older human.

"It's instinct to protect him," he explained. "From anything. Especially if he's hurt."

"Oh," the Sheriff mumbled. It made sense. He had some cases with similar situation, though without the supernatural factor. And then he realized something else, "Oh!" He sighed, "He still needs to go to the hospital."

"I think it'll be a lot easier to get him to Deaton," Derek responded carefully. "The Berserker won't let anyone near him. And if we push, it's just going to go. Deaton helped us in the past, when we were hurt, so it'll know he will be actually trying to help. If Deaton says Stiles needs to go to the hospital, I'll take him there immediately."

"You mean I take him," the Sheriff corrected.

"None of you are going within a mile of the clinic," Derek told them sternly. "Not, unless you want the Berserker to go on a rampage and kill us all."

"Okay, fine!" the Sheriff snapped. "Let's just stop wasting time."

"Okay."

* * *

Turned out Stiles didn't need to go to the hospital, but Deaton wanted to keep him for observation for the rest of the night. Derek passed the news to the Sheriff and the pack and they all finally were able to relax. The druid also gathered enough information about the Berserker and his connection to Derek, so he was able to figure out what had been done to the werewolf and reversed it in no time. Afterwards Derek was staring at his phone and tried to convince himself, that he should call the Sheriff and tell him it was safe to come. But he just couldn't do it. His wolf was still unsettled and he really didn't want to deal with anyone right now.

Deaton just took one look at him, lips quirking up, and walked to the door, "I'll just leave you to it."

* * *

Stiles was so pleasantly warm that he didn't want to wake up, but his entire left side was numb and something heavy was lying on it. He blinked his eyes open and tried to see something in the faint light from the windows.

"We're at the animal clinic," the voice near his ear said quietly. Stiles jumped in surprise and, oh, now he was aware, that the weight constricting his movements was another body. Derek was lying on top of his left side, his arm curled around his chest pulling him even more under werewolf's body. He had his leg thrown across Stiles' own. Face buried in boy's neck, which he started nuzzling slowly.

"I found your wolf," Stiles shared.

"Yes," Derek lifted his head. "How are you feeling?"

"Good. I'm good. Though you could move a bit, my left side is all numb."

Derek huffed a laugh and lifted half his body off, "Move on your side. Unless it's bothering you? Deaton had to put a few stitches on your chest."

"It's fine," Stiles rolled over. Derek settled behind him.

Now that Stiles was comfortable and still warm, thanks to the living heater at his back, the tiredness came back with a vengeance. But there was one thing he needed to know.

"You got your wolf back, right?" he slurred.

"Yes," Derek shifted, pulling him closer. "Go back to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

Stiles hummed his agreement. He moved his hand to Derek's resting against his chest gently, intertwined their fingers and fell asleep.


End file.
